Operation Game On
by azkabcn
Summary: Emma Swan has been missing for four years and her case leads Sherlock and John to a very persuasive Henry Mills, who remarkably is working on something similar that will take them beyond everything they know. Can the logical Sherlock Holmes open his mind in order to bring back the magic of the real world and save the only person he ever loved? [Co-authored by Gemma Cane]
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! I am very very excited to announce that you are about to read my very first collaboration! That's right, I am only 50% of the writing team for this. The other half of the duo is my friend and fellow fangirl Gemma Cane, who was the one to come up with the idea for a collab fic (thanks for that btw). So yeah, I only get half of the credit for this. Hope you enjoy the story, feel free to drop us a line either in a review or by PM, we'd appreciate it a lot.**

* * *

Sherlock sat at his laptop (well John's, technically), his hand cupping his cheek.

He was bored. Cases had been incredibly slow; there had been nothing higher than a four in months. He'd promised John that he wouldn't revert to cigarettes and drugs again. He'd been successful for the past six months, which was progress as far as he and John were concerned.

But he was _bored_. He stared at John's blog, waiting for the next comment to pop up onto the post for their last case. He scrolled back up to the top, rereading the replies from the beginning.

 _Lance Ellis (lellis):_ Hey this looks interesting, seanmcquire. Maybe these blokes could help us look for our missing bail bonds woman? [11:48pm]

 _Sean McQuire (seanmcquire):_ Possibly. I'll have a look through this blog, see their base and success rate and all. [11:49pm]

 _Lance Ellis (lellis):_ That's great, boss. Maybe we'll get Emma back after four years at last. [11:49pm]

Sherlock sat back in his chair and did a once over in his mind. _Missing person case, four years. Means one thing. Terrible police force. A strong five, possibly six, depending on if this Emma woman is good or not. But she got herself missing, that doesn't sound like something a good bail bonds person would do._

He decided if these people decided to get back to them, he would probably take this case.

'John!' he called. 'I may have found a case!'

Five seconds later, he heard John's footsteps descending the stairs. 'What have you found, Sherlock?' John leant in close, his left hand resting next to Sherlock's, his right arm trailing around Sherlock's back and finding its place next to his forearm.

Sherlock's breath hitched as he felt John's even breathing hitting his ear. His eyes glanced down at John's hands, and wondered if it would hurt to just rest his hand atop John's.

 _Stop. Don't get distracted. There's work to be done._

'Sherlock?' John's voice broke him out of his thoughts and he jumped slightly. 'This Sean McQuire guy has just sent me an email.'

Sherlock ran his eyes over the blog and caught the words 'high success rate' and 'based in the UK though' and 'email them anyway'.

'He said?' asked Sherlock, not taking his eyes off the screen.

John held his phone up by Sherlock's eyes, and Sherlock smiled at him as a way of thanks.

The email read:

 _Dear Mr Watson,_

 _I have been looking at the contents of your blog, and I have come to find your high success rate extremely relieving._

 _I work at S. McQuire Bail Bonds Agency, Boston, Massachusetts. We experienced a great loss four years ago, in the fall of 2012. Our top bail bonds woman, Miss Emma Swan, went missing on October 22 of that year._

 _Our team have tried our hardest to try and locate her, though we have always come up unsuccessful, the reason for this being a little... unusual: she has disappeared off the map._

 _Each of our team has a means to be located through their phones, however_ _Miss Swan's locator has always hit a dead end, no matter how much we reset our devices._

 _I was wondering if you and your partner, Mr Holmes, may be able to assist us on this matter. I would like it if we can discuss prices and appointment times over email, please._

 _Thank you for taking my case into consideration._

 _Yours Faithfully,_

 _Mr Sean McQuire, Manager of S. McQuire Bail Bonds Agency._

'What do you think, Sherlock?' John asked as Sherlock finished reading. 'Interested?'

'Quite. Seemingly went 'off the map'? You don't hear that happening every day.'

'Am I agreeing to take the case?'

Sherlock sat back and thought for a second. 'Yes, tell them we'll on the next flight to Boston, take two weeks of leave from the surgery and get packing. I'll look into tickets now.'

* * *

Fifteen hours later, Sherlock and John were seated in the reception area of Boston's bail bonds agency.

'John, you see that woman in the purple skirt that walked past?' Sherlock muttered, leaning in close to John's ear.

'What about her?'

'She's just found out her husband has three additional wives and she's going through a divorce process. And the man with the crooked tie? He works at a brothel.' John snorted with (attempted) silent laughter, which then erupted into giggles before he managed to rein himself in. Sherlock's heart soared at his accomplishment; John hadn't laughed like that in weeks – not in his presence anyway.

Just as John had recovered, two men walked through the doorway of the waiting room. 'Mr Watson? Mr Holmes? If you'd like to come through, please?' the man with a clipboard tucked into the crook of his elbow prompted.

Sherlock rose, and John followed swiftly behind. They were led into a decent sized office and offered chairs.

Sherlock looked around the office as John and the two men talked about the case. _Clipboard man married, three children, one deceased. Boss of this establishment, worked here for three decades. Lance Ellis, twice divorced, now single, childless, alcoholic, working here for seven years._

A sudden hand on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie, and he looked up to see John standing over him.

'Come on, Sherlock,' he prompted. 'We need to get Lestrade on board, he can help.'

Sherlock, having been in his Mind Palace for the full length of this meeting, had absolutely no clue what was going on ( _idiot_ ) so just nodded along and stood up.

When they exited the office, John asked, 'You weren't listening, were you?' though his voice hid no disappointment or exasperation, only a playful tone.

Sherlock smiled sheepishly. 'No, sorry.'

John rolled his eyes, nudging Sherlock with his elbow as they walked. 'Emma disappeared on her birthday four years ago,' he started to explain. 'We know that she was headed north towards Maine and she got there, and then suddenly all traces of her were gone.'

'Gone as in totally disappeared?' Sherlock asked to clarify.

'Yeah, like she doesn't even exist anymore. Their radar isn't picking up on her whatsoever.'

They reached the car Sherlock hired and as they entered, John asked if they should get Greg involved now.

Sherlock screwed up his face in an expression of dire confusion. 'Greg? Who's Greg?'

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock Holmes might have had the brain of a mastermind when it came to mysteries and puzzles, when it came to normal, ordinary, every day people things, his best friend was rather clueless. 'Lestrade, Sherlock. Greg Lestrade.'

'Ah, yes. Okay. I'll do that now.'

Sherlock produced his phone from his coat pocket and found Lestrade easily in his limited contact list. The hollow ringing filled his ear as he impatiently counted each one.

'Hello?' A drowsy voice mumbled down the line.

'Lestrade. What can you possibly be doing that is so important that it takes you seven point five rings of your phone to pick up?' Sherlock demanded.

A somewhat angry sigh replied. 'Sleeping, like any other normal person would be.'

'Normality.' Sherlock dismissed the idea. 'I'd prefer to stay as far away as- sleeping?' He asked incredulously. 'At 7.30? Well I knew you were delicate Lestrade, but not _this_ delicate.'

'What do you mean 7.30?' Greg was evidently annoyed now. 'It's half twelve!'

'Other side of the Atlantic, Sherlock.' John reminded. 'Time difference.'

'Well still, 12.30.' Sherlock said stubbornly. 'Get a grip.'

'What do you want, Sherlock?'

'As much as it pains me, I need your help.' Sherlock began. 'You see we have a case, in Boston-'

'Boston?' Lestrade interrupted. 'What in the world are you two doing over there?'

'Bored.' Sherlock said simply. 'It's not like any of you had anything even remotely interesting for me. A missing dog, a small business embezzlement and two very boring _very_ obvious domestic murders.'

John cleared his throat, and Sherlock glanced sideways at him. He shook his head, telling Sherlock he was beginning to cross the thin line that just existed with him, separating 'good' and 'not good.'

'Someone got in touch, a missing person's case.' Sherlock continued, reeling himself in as much as possible. 'She's been missing for four years, seemingly off the map, but even you are smart enough to know that that doesn't happen.'

There was a pause for a moment. 'What do you need?'

'Her name is Emma Swan, she turned 28 when she went missing. I want you to enlist Mycroft, I suppose he can be useful in some ways. You don't just _become_ a bail bonds person.'

'You don't?' John questioned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Do you hear how ridiculous you sound? Of course not. It's a tough job, a demanding job. Hardly worth the small amount you get payed. No, this is something personal. She has a past, something to drive her. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if she'd spent time behind bars herself. If so I want to know what for. It could have something to do with her disappearance.'

* * *

The next morning, John woke at nine o'clock, to find Sherlock sitting at the table in their hotel room, his hands under his chin.

'Sherlock, you okay?' He didn't get a reply. 'Sherlock?' Still nothing.

He got up slowly, and when he saw Sherlock concentrating, he realised he was in his Mind Palace. He decided to leave his friend to it; he'd come up with better ideas undisturbed.

He filled up the kettle for his morning tea and, as it boiled, let his thoughts drift over to the case they'd taken on.

 _Bail bonds woman goes missing, police force can't find her. She goes totally off the map. What does  
that mean?_

It was at times like this John wished he had Sherlock's brain. He couldn't find any clues with the little information he had, but Sherlock would find a whole world of answers with just a glance at a page of someone's details.

' _Damn it_.' The two words and the slap of a hand on the table made John jump.

Sherlock pushed his chair back and stood. 'Nothing,' he muttered. 'Nothing, nothing, nothing! There's no explanation for this. But she has to be somewhere. She _has_ to be. She can't just _disappear_ , this isn't some fantasy world!'

Sherlock continued to rant, pacing around the room and working himself up into a panic. He kept muttering about 'the only answer' being 'magic' but that being 'ridiculous because magic isn't real.' John waited until he could stand it no longer. He walked over to Sherlock, placing his hands onto his shoulders. 'Sherlock,' he said. 'Calm down.' Sherlock didn't register his presence: though he'd stopped ranting, his eyes were still distant.

' _Sherlock_ ,' he pressed on. 'Look at me.'

Sherlock's eyes finally locked with John's and John swallowed, resisting the urge to close the distance between them. 'Breathe,' he whispered, both to himself and to Sherlock. 'We'll find a way to work this out. I know we will. We always do.'

Sherlock smiled. 'We need to go and check out the diner where Miss Swan used to work.'

John stepped back, asking, 'You think she went back to her old job?'

'It's worth a try; if you had to run, wouldn't you go back to your beginnings?'

John had to admit he had a point, though he wasn't sure it would be likely this time.

'She may have tried to locate the son she gave up when she was eighteen, fourteen years ago,' Sherlock explained as he rummaged through his suitcase. 'I've already got Lestrade looking in to him.'

'You know that how?' John asked sceptically.

'She _was_ in prison, I got Mycroft to look up her records.'

'Ah. So okay. Leave here in half an hour?' John clarified.

'Yes, that works,' was the reply he got.

And that was that. Their case in Boston had officially begun.

* * *

The light was intensely blinding as his eyes began to open. For a brief moment, confusion took hold as he looked blankly around the room from his position of lying in the middle of the floor. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he felt something hard digging into his palm. Opening his fist, his eyes came to rest on the small key he was holding on to. His eyes widened in shock as everything came flooding back; Mr Gold and the Author… _his family._

Scrambling to his feet, Henry rushed to the banister, leaning over the rails to peer into the kitchen of the loft. The storybook lay abandoned on the floor, alongside a torch and some other sheets of paper. Frowning, he raced down the stairs.

'Grandma?' He called, moving swiftly through the small house, searching every room. 'Grandpa?'

He approached the cradle in the middle of the floor. It was empty.

'Hook?'

Clutching the key tighter, he bent to pick up the book. Running his hand over the familiar leather cover he tried to process what was going on. Just a few minutes ago, he had entered with his grandparents and Hook. They were to find the key and the page and -

Turning the book in his hands, a single sheet of paper slipped from its bindings, landing face down. Henry knelt, flipping it to face him. The illustration of the door glared up at him. He folded it and stuffed it in his pocket, letting himself out of the building and on to the main street.

The town was eerily silent, and felt as cursed as it did all those years ago. The scuffling of the leaves over the tarmac roads echoed off the buildings, the only noticeable sound above his own footsteps.

'Hello?' His shouts resonated around the ghost town of Storybrooke. 'Is anyone here?'

He paused, waiting for the echoes to subside. Silence.

'Hello?'

He continued to walk, past the oddly deserted Granny's, past the clock tower and the Sheriff's station, through the whole town, until he came back around to Gold's shop. He peered through the window, shielding the glass from the reflecting glare of the sun. The shop was in darkness. Finding the door unlocked, he let himself in, the ring of the bell above his head making him jump. A dull whirring sound filled the room. There was an old record player left unattended, the vinyl disc having finished. The needle now rested pointlessly on the spinning disc. Tentatively, he removed the needle and switched it off, a deafening silence crashing over the shop.

Henry fruitlessly searched the back. Nothing. Just like everywhere else. Panic began to settle in his stomach.

 _No._ He told himself firmly. _You can do this. You_ will _find them. Just think…what would a hero do?_

His keen eyes scanned the shop once more. They fell upon the counter top, where an old snow globe swirled though it sat still. Beside it lay keys. _Car keys._ An idea flashed into his brain. Glancing out of the window, he saw Gold's car parked in its usual spot on the roadside. Snatching up the keys, he ran out to the black car, sinking into the leather seat and gripping the wheel.

'I don't know how to _drive_!' He muttered to himself.

He racked his brains in a desperate attempt to remember what David had taught him back when he was cursed. It wasn't much, he had managed to put a mail box in intensive care, but maybe it would be enough to get to help.

Turning the keys and easing his foot onto the pedal, he began to move, gaining speed as he flew past the sign, over the town line, and out into the real world.

* * *

'So no one's seen her here either.' John sighed, taking a long sip of his tea. 'Another bloody dead end.'

He glanced up. Sherlock sat in silence opposite him at the table they had occupied by the window. They had made their way to the diner Miss Swan has worked at, and had taken the time to rest and go over the little information they had.

'Stealing.' He suddenly muttered.

'What?' John asked.

'She was arrested for stealing some watches. Hardly what I was expecting. It's not exactly the thing a person disappears for.'

'Well, what prison?' John thought aloud, hoping this would earn him some form of gratitude from the man sat opposite him.

'Phoenix.'

'Maybe we could go there?'

'Maybe…' Sherlock responded, his face unreadable.

'Okay…' John racked his brains for some other idea. 'What about her son? What happened to him?'

Sherlock suddenly seemed to prick up. 'He was adopted by a Miss Regina Mills. Mayor of…'

'Mayor of where?' John pressed.

'The records didn't say.' Sherlock frowned. 'The information was missing, like it had been completely erased. It's as if the son, Henry, I believe, just-'

'Disappeared off the map.' John finished, eyes widening.

'Exactly.' Sherlock replied, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly in an excited smirk. 'Find out what happened to the son, and maybe, we find our lost Miss Swan.'

For once, it was Sherlock that lacked a reply.

'John?' He pressed, impatient.

John had gone quiet, staring out of the window into the car park in confusion. 'Odd.'

Sherlock followed his gaze. A child had just pulled up in a black car, climbing out and approaching the diner.

'Odd? What's odd?'

'Sherlock, there is a _child_ driving a car.' John said, exasperated.

'America.' He shrugged, as if this answered all questions.

The boy entered the diner, and headed straight for the counter. The woman looked at him in shock and amusement. He began to take photographs from his bag, laying them out before her.

'What in the-' John began.

Sherlock silenced him. 'I'm trying to listen.'

'Have you seen any of these people?' He was asking, his desperation evident. 'Please, they're my family.'

The woman looked him up and down, frowning. 'Let me…let me just go and ask the others, see if they know anything.'

She walked away, producing her phone. 'Yeah, I think he's a runaway.'

'That doesn't look good.' John evaluated, getting to his feet and stepping up to the boy, who was now frantically stuffing the pictures away.

There were four different faces across the collection of photographs. A tall man with curly, light brown hair; a woman with pale skin and short black hair; another woman with dark locks, and a business like trouser suit; a blonde haired woman who -

'Emma?' John whispered under his breath.

The boy whipped around suddenly, his green eyes full of fear yet also hope. 'What did you say? You know my mom?'

Sherlock was now standing slightly behind John, staring intensely at the photograph of Emma Swan.

'Henry Mills?' he asked.

The boy faltered for a moment, confused. 'Yes. Who are you?'

'Sherlock Holmes. This is my partner Doctor Watson.' Sherlock answered. 'Welcome back to the map.'


	2. Chapter 2

Half of him was saying run. Run now, get back in the car, and carry on alone. Trusting strange men, especially one in a dark, full length, high collared trench coat, was not a good idea. But the other half kept his feet glued firmly to the floor before them. They knew his mom. They knew _him._ They could help him find his family, help him get them back. He didn't even know where to start, and they already appeared to have intel. Asking random strangers in a world only Emma had set foot in if they had seen any of them was definitely not working. What choice did he have?

'So, you're Emma's son.' Sherlock said, more as a statement than a question, like he had always known.

Henry nodded. 'Sorry but, how do you know my mom? What do you mean 'welcome back to the map'?'

'Do you mind?' Sherlock asked, ignoring Henry and gesturing to the photos in his hands.

'Um, sure?' Hesitantly, Henry handed the photos over.

Sherlock snatched them into his own hands, his eyes manically flicking over each face, a frown fixated upon his own.

The other man, Watson, stood awkwardly beside them, glancing across at Henry and smiling every now and then.

'Your mum's old boss got in touch with us. She's been missing for four years now, they enlisted us to find her.' He explained briefly.

The great sense of shock and confusion that had overwhelmed him kept Henry from asking all the questions he wanted to. Instead he just stood there, dumbfound. The sudden appearance of the two men had also made him forget his urge to get out of there, before social services arrived. That was until he suddenly found himself tightly wrapped in the embrace of Doctor Watson.

'What the–' He began, attempting to worm out of his arms.

'Just go with it.' Watson hissed in his ear, then, 'Oh thank God we found you!'

Henry felt his ears burning as the whole diner turned to see what all the fuss was. The woman that was at the counter had reappeared, phone in hand, and now stopped dead as she took in what was going on before her.

'The things you put us through, Henry.' Watson gushed, holding him close and stroking his head. 'We were worried sick!'

The woman came forward. 'Is everything alright here?'

'It is now, thank you. We just woke up this morning and he was gone. But we're together again now.'

'He's yours?' The waitress asked warily. 'But, I didn't see you in any of the pictures -'

At the mention of the photos Sherlock's head snapped up. 'What?'

'Oh, he has this silly notion he's going to find his real family.' Watson sighed, as Sherlock placed the pictures in his pocket a little too suspiciously. He lowered his voice. 'You see, I adopted him a few months ago, he's not taking it very well.'

Henry still couldn't react, standing stiff beside the stranger he had met not five minutes ago, who was now pretending to be his guardian.

The woman smiled slowly. 'Well, I'm glad that you and you're um…' She frowned at Sherlock. 'Partner, were able to find him.'

Again, Sherlock frowned, looking between Watson and the woman in confusion. 'What? John-'

'Well, I assumed that–'

'Yes, thank you.' John interrupted, fixing Sherlock with an overly sweet yet also rather threatening smile. 'Come on Henry, we'll get you something before we head off.'

Henry smiled slightly at John, as Sherlock had called him, following him to the table they had been sitting at when he arrived.

'Sorry about that.' John said, sliding across the seat as Sherlock perched himself beside him.

Henry sat opposite them, looking between them.

'We're not…you know…' John added hastily. 'We just work together.'

'Solving cases.' Sherlock finally entered the conversation. 'As a matter of fact, we're here to solve yours, Henry.'

'Mine?' Henry asked, his brows knitting together in a frown. 'What are you talking about? And what did you mean, 'back to the map'?'

Sherlock didn't even blink at the flood of questions. 'Your mother is missing, yes?'

'Yes, but not for-'

'And so have you been, since you were just a few months old.'

'No, I haven't.' Henry replied, his confusion growing.

'According to the records you have. No one knows where you ended up ever since you were adopted fourteen years ago.'

John leaned across the table. 'On the adoption form it says that your adoptive mother was the mayor of the town you were being taken to.'

'Yes, Storybrooke.' Henry nodded. 'And that's where I've been for those fourteen years. I've lived there all my life.'

'Storybrooke?' John asked, as Sherlock had gone silent again. 'You've been there all your life?'

'Well, yes, except the one year my mom and I spent in New York, but I doubt that appeared on the records. I mean, our lives weren't real there.'

'What makes you say that?'

Henry paused for a moment, not meeting John's gaze. 'We…we were cursed.'

John collapsed back into the seat. 'Henry, we want to help but…'

Henry felt anger surging inside him. For ten years of his life he had been told he was crazy. No one believed him that Storybrooke was cursed, not even him own mother. He had been isolated, put into therapy, ignored and crushed in an attempt to make him more 'normal'. He wasn't going to sit here and have these two strangers tell him he was crazy, when they didn't know him or his family or what they had been through. They claimed to be looking for his mom, and so was he. If they weren't going to believe, they would never find his family. And that wasn't a risk Henry was willing to take.

'I am _not_ crazy.' Henry snarled. 'If you don't want to believe me that's fine, I'll find my mom on my own.'

'Henry, we will find her.' John said as calmly as possible. 'But we've not got a lot to go on.'

'Well lucky for you, I have.' Henry answered. 'They all disappeared this morning. Everyone in the whole town.'

'Emma's been missing for four years!'

'No she _hasn't_!' Henry groaned. 'When will you start listening to me?'

'I'm not going on a wild goose chase based on blind belief.'

'Who are these people?' Sherlock suddenly interrupted, making Henry jump as he shoved the pictures across the table.

'My family.'

'Family? There was no mention of any siblings or aunts or uncles in the records that do exist.'

'Because I don't have any.' Henry replied. He pointed to the smiling faces. 'That's my adoptive mom, Regina. And they're my grandparents.'

'Grandparents?' John asked incredulously.

'Hush John.' Sherlock shot. 'Emma's parents?'

'Yeah, Mary Margaret and David.' Henry answered, rummaging in his bag. 'More commonly known as…' he dropped a large book on the table. 'Snow White and Prince Charming.'

John made no attempt to hide his exasperated sigh, and Henry could see the pity behind his eyes. He didn't know how, but he had to convince them to believe. It took being poisoned to get his mom to believe, he'd have to try something a bit more discrete with these two.

Sherlock was flicking through the pages of the book, looking between the illustrations and the photos on the table. He reached the end, quickly reading the last few pages.

'So the Evil Queen cursed everyone and brought them here?' He asked slowly, lifting his gaze but not his head to look at Henry.

'Yeah, my mom.'

'Emma?'

'Other mom.'

'Right.'

They fell into silence, Henry determined to get them to believe, John determined to get out of there back to normal people, and Sherlock…well, who knows?

'You last saw them all this morning?'

'Yeah, we were going to get…' Henry trailed off, staring across the diner.

'Henry?' Sherlock followed his gaze.

Slowly, Henry rose to his feet, walking as if in a trance to a book shelf in the corner. His heart plummeted to the floor when he read the cover.

 _Heroes and Villains by Isaac Heller_

His heart just about stopped. With trembling hands, he lifted a copy from the shelf, turning the book in his hands. Isaac's face smiled out at him from a photo on the back cover. It took all his strength to stop him from dropping it to the floor.

He returned to the table, shoving the book under the noses of Sherlock and John.

'I know him. He's the Author.'

'Right?' John pressed, obviously unimpressed.

'Like, _The_ Author.' Henry clarified. 'The one that wrote the stories in here.' He tapped the cover of the storybook. 'I need to talk to him. He'll know what happened to my family.'

'Henry, you don't know that.' John sighed.

'Look, the author was trapped in this page here.' Henry began, producing the page with door from his pocket. 'He wanted to change the balance, give all the villains from the storybook a happy ending. We tried to trap him back inside with this but…next thing I knew everyone was gone. He's just got to know _something._ '

He held up the key for them to see before returning it safely to his pocket.

'But you can't be _sure,_ we can't just up and leave to look for some random author!' John argued, his disbelief angering Henry more and more.

'Yes, we can. Please. They're _my_ family. Trust me.'

'Very well.' Sherlock decided, looking up from his phone that Henry didn't even see him produce and picking up the page. 'According to his blog he has a book signing tonight in New York. What do you say we pay Mr Heller a little visit? He might like to see this.'

* * *

The door of the hall clashed against the wall as Henry pushed it open. Gasps were heard as everyone who was seated turned around in their chairs to get a better view of whoever it was that had interrupted this event.

Sherlock, John and Henry stood a few feet away from the last row of chairs. Henry reduced his focus solely to the man in question, Isaac Heller, who's demeanour had suddenly gone from light and cheerful to stiff and rigid.

 _Right_ , thought Henry. _Be discreet. We don't need everyone knowing about our mess of a situation_.

But before he could even open his mouth, a shout of, 'Isaac! We need to talk!' reverberated through the hall.

Henry closed his eyes in exasperation before turning his head swiftly to look at Sherlock. He gave the older man an incredulous tilt of the head, which merited him a shrug from said older man. So much for being discreet.

John looked pointedly at Sherlock. 'Let Henry deal with this,' he mouthed. Sherlock frowned.

'You have something of ours that we want back, Mr Heller!' Sherlock called out, earning him a groan each from John and Henry.

'Hey,' Henry hissed at him. 'What did I tell you about letting me do the talking?'

Sherlock gave him a sideways glance, frowning. 'I know what I'm talking about, Henry.'

'What? No you don't!' Henry looked desperately at John, while the audience's attention started to drift from Heller's new book to the trio. John shrugged, so Henry resigned himself and let the consulting detective speak. He started the walk up the aisle and stopped halfway.

'I see you're trying your hardest to make a new start after a past of rejection, the neatness of your suit and your general appearance suggests you're trying a little too hard to gain acceptance when we all know that you've cheated your way to get here. You know what could happen if you lie to us here onwards.' Sherlock paused, though he tried his hardest to keep it hidden that he really didn't know what he was talking about and was just grasping at straws. He held illustration of the door up. Isaac's body visibly stiffened. 'So it's best you let us know what we want to know.'

Sherlock ended up at Isaac's podium, slamming the page down on top of the stack of papers. 'I suggest we take this somewhere private,' he hissed. 'We don't want anyone finding out about this, now, do we?'

Isaac hid his frustration behind mock surprise. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' he dismissed with a smile.

'Uh uh,' came Henry's voice from next to Sherlock. 'You're lying.'

Isaac scowled, looking at each of them with narrowed eyes. The attention of the audience had scattered, no longer focused on the book but gossiping about the situation.

'What have you done to my family? Where are they?' Henry pressed on, showing Isaac the key and giving him a knowing look.

Isaac rolled his eyes and stood up so fast that his chair almost tipped. Side stepping the podium, he addressed the people seated: 'Ladies and gentlemen, due to a minor inconvenience, we are going to take a short break. We will resume shortly.'

Isaac lead them to a room at the back of the hall. He then disappeared into an office-like room for five minutes before emerging once again. 'Okay,' he sighed. 'Much to the chagrin of my publicist, you have my undivided attention.'

Sherlock glanced at Henry, inviting the young boy to speak. Henry gave him a nod before stepping forward.

'Where. Are my family?' he asked forcefully. When Isaac didn't answer, he held up the page and held the key to the pictorial keyhole. 'Are they dead?'

'Wait, wait!' Isaac held his hands up to stop Henry. 'Look around you,' he instructed, gesturing around the room. 'They're right here.'

Henry frowned. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'The book. They're in the book.'

Henry whipped his head round to look at Sherlock.

'Sherlock, what are you talking about?' John piped up. 'How the hell can they be in a storybook?'

'Henry was telling us how his family are all fairy tale characters, like Snow White, Prince Charming, Captain Hook etcetera. They were trapped in that book he showed us, before his mother brought them to Storybrooke, their home—'

'Sherlock, you actually believe him?' John interjected incredulously.

'John, haven't I told you?' Sherlock questioned. 'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth. I'm not entirely convinced of this in this case but it is a possibility.'

'Um, Sherlock? What do you mean my family is in the book?' Henry prompted impatiently.

'Ah yes. Mr Heller has a past of rejection, each of his novels and storylines ending before they had even begun. He wanted a world in which he was the good guy he was praised, not criticised and hated.

'As the heroes of the normal world are people like Snow White and Prince Charming, he decided to turn the tables, making them the villains and him the hero. I'm not exactly sure how he did it but they are trapped in this book.' Sherlock held up a paper copy of Isaac's Heroes & Villains book.

'There must be a hardback copy somewhere in his possession—'

'You mean this?' Isaac interrupted. Sherlock, John and Henry turned to him, to see him holding up a version of Heroes & Villains that was the same size as Henry's storybook. 'You would be correct. Henry's family is inside.'

'Get them out!' Henry yelled, once again threatening Isaac with the door and the key.

Isaac laughed derisively. 'I can't,' he said simply. 'There is the one rule The Author has to follow: don't write your own happy ending—' Henry saw John and Sherlock share a confused glance. '—which, whoops, I didn't follow so the pen is just a pen now.'

'Well if you can't get them out, I will!' Henry gripped the book and tugged. He stumbled backwards a bit but the book was finally in his grasp.

Isaac guffawed. 'You? You can't get them out!' he sneered, taking the book back without struggle. 'You're not a hero, Henry. You're from a world without magic, you're an ordinary kid who needs saving, you can never be a knight in shining armour.'

Henry's temper had risen, and he stood in his place, fists shaking. Suddenly he jumped at Isaac, tackling him to the ground. The book fell out of The Author's hands as Henry pushed against his wrists to hold him, and slid to John's feet. John gripped it and handed it to Sherlock.

'Henry! Get the key!' he called as he opened the book, frantically flipping through to find the page with the door.

Isaac laughed mockingly. 'You're crazy. You know that? Crazy.'

Sherlock smirked at him, while holding the book open. 'No. I'm a high functioning sociopath. Do your research.'

Henry managed to stop wrestling with Isaac and ran over to Sherlock with the key. Isaac hauled himself off the floor and went to follow him, but John pulled him back, turning him round and swinging a punch to the side of his face. The Author fell to the ground, groaning. John winced as burning pain erupted across his knuckles, though he stopped short when he heard his name.

'John, stand back,' Sherlock instructed as Henry positioned the key.

'What? Sherlock, no!' John protested.

'Stand. Back.'

John stumbled back, his face stricken. 'Sherlock, what are you—'

Before he could finish his sentence, Henry's wrist turned and both he and Sherlock were engulfed in a bright yellow light.


End file.
